Little Mini Bert
Tears and Fears
‘So… you can pick up the phone anytime you want. I’ll just be waiting, right here, by my phone, waiting for you. Call back already.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:05 P.M.
‘I know you’re hiding away like a little lost rabbit, don’t pretend you’re not there. C’mon man, I need to talk to you. Call back.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:25 P.M.
‘Hi, I’m Quinn. Do you remember me? I think I left like 30 messages on your phone. Yes. Anyway, look I’m not mad. Wait, maybe I am. I don’t know, but what I do know is that this needs to get sorted out. Just… pick up.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:40 P.M.
‘Hey Bret, it’s Dan. So Quinn is getting on my case about calling up and speaking to him already.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:45 P.M.
‘Mr. McCracken, this is Jerry Pritchard of the protection of animal rights organization, PETA. I’m calling you today on behalf of several witness accounts of a miniature horse being spotted amongst the crowd at a recent show hosted by your band. These witnesses stated that the horse even made an appearance on stage, during which time you professed to the audience in question that the horse was indeed yours. Many people are astonished by your stage antics, and calls have been flooding in about this particular case. I understand you are a famous musician, Mr. McCracken, but…doesn’t give you special privileges…horses shouldn’t be kept in those conditions… We shall talk further about this as soon as you receive this message. I expect a reply, Mr. McCracken. Good day.’
Beep. New message at 6:57 P.M.
‘What the hell is this about PETA calls? They just called me with all this animal rights lecture and you not answering, blah blah. Oh for the love of God, I will actually come down and kick your ass if this gets us into any more trouble. It was fun and cute to begin with, but that was before all the enforcements and laws came into mind. Bert, I… I just don’t know how to do this…’
Quinn hung up before he finished what he had to say. Bert let out a shuddering sigh, a slight remnant of the tears he had been suffering through for the majority of the day. His gaze fell on the small horse curled up in one corner, and he willed himself to keep from sobbing again. Combined with the strange withdrawals he had been experiencing, the previous night’s events were almost enough to send him over the edge. He could always end it if he wanted to…
No. He couldn’t leave the little horse all by itself for such a stupid reason. Who would take care of it? It wasn’t like he could trust anyone else. Quinn, maybe, but now even his best friend was mad at him.
“Look at all the trouble I’ve gotten you into, little one,” he said quietly. Regardless of his caution, the filly opened her bright blue eyes and stared up at him, whickering softly. “What if they come and take you away?”
The phone let out another irritated ring, so Bert went against his better judgment and finally answered it.
“…Hello?”
“Bert! God, I was so worried!” Instead of the worried voice of Quinn he expected – or possibly another PETA representative claiming he was Satan – Gerard’s voice sounded through the receiver.
“Why were you worried about me?” he asked with a frown. He secretly hoped someone else would call just so he could avoid the conversation.
“Quinn said you weren’t answering his calls. Why not?”
“Because people haven’t left me alone all day!” he shouted. “The audience was upset, the band’s freaking out, and now I’ve got PETA breathing down my neck. That’s why.” He paused. “Why did you call him?”
“Actually, he called me. He was wondering if I had spoken to you at all.”
Bert’s heart rate doubled. “Did you tell him anything?”
“No, I didn’t. Is everything okay? Should I come over there?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Gerard sighed. “You sound like you’ve been crying.”
“I told you, I’m fine! Leave me alone.” Even though he was trying to claim he was okay, Bert knew his voice sounded broken. He hung up before Gerard could answer.
He glanced at the clock as he walked back into the kitchen to see if it was time for the horse to eat yet. ‘It’s only seven,’ he thought to himself as he approached the fridge. ‘I guess it’s okay if she has a snack.’ He grabbed a bag of baby carrots and a small bottle of water along with a soda for himself and walked back to the living room.
“Here you go, horsie,” he said with a smile as he sat cross-legged on the floor and tore the plastic open, holding out a handful of the vegetables. The filly trotted over excitedly and happily took a bit of the carrots. Bert winced as its sharp teeth clamped down on at least two of his fingers, but he simply slid one pinky into the corner of its mouth to open it. He remained still as it released his fingers – along with the food – then licked up the mush now coating his hand. He had gotten used to it by now.
A knock on the door interrupted his thought process. He considered ignoring it as he had been all day, but he didn’t want to deal with the press or anyone else once it started getting later and he was trying to sleep. He stood and went to open the door, gasping inwardly in shock when he saw Gerard standing at the door.
“I told you to leave me alone,” Bert said firmly. He tried to close the door, but Gerard put a hand out to keep it open for a moment before he stepped inside. The filly shivered from the sudden draft ruffling her light fur.
“I don’t think you should keep the horse anymore, Bert,” Gerard said bluntly with a blank look on his face. Bert felt his heart rate skyrocket, this time in anger.
“You can’t take her away from me! I need her!” he shouted. Gerard shut the door and approached the horse, kneeling down next to her and stroking her fuzzy mane.
“You need her so you can let her almost get killed at one of your concerts?” he asked in near disgust. “I thought you had a little more sense than that, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Look at her. She’s fine,” Bert insisted as the horse drank from the puddle of water he had poured into his hand. “You have no right to get rid of her. She’s not yours.”
“And now I’ve seen that she shouldn’t be yours,” Gerard shot back. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this has caused?”
“Go check my phone messages. I have some idea,” Bert responded sternly. “I don’t care, though. I’m not letting you take her away from me.”
“Don’t you want the best for her?” his friend asked more quietly. “You should consider letting someone else take care of her. Someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing.” Bert almost nodded, but instead stubbornly shook his head.
“I’m doing fine. Why can’t you understand that?” he asked furiously. Gerard let out a long sigh and went to find a piece of paper.
“I’m going to give you the name and number of a friend of mine who owns a horse ranch around here,” he said tentatively. He slid a Sharpie out of his pocket, thankful that he always kept one handy in case a fan rabidly attacked him and asked for an autograph, and scribbled the information on the back of a receipt from the record store. He tried to hand it to Bert, but when his friend refused to acknowledge the fact that he was still there, he let the plasticized paper flutter out of his hands and onto the floor. Just before he stepped out the door again, he paused.
“Just…give it some thought, okay? Put my mind at ease.”
Bert finally let out a withheld breath once the door clicked shut. He gently picked up the little horse and held her close, finally allowing the last of his tears to flow.
“I won’t let anyone get you, little mini,” he whispered. The filly raised her head to look at him and licked some of the water off his face. He just smiled and placed a kiss on her tiny pink nose.
His eyes fell on the crumpled bit of paper resting next to him. The person’s first name was Angel, but the last name was completely indecipherable, as were about half of the numbers. Bert rolled his eyes; Gerard’s handwriting was permanent chicken scratch to him. He smiled and set the horse down, letting it run outside for a moment. He picked up the piece of paper and stood, meaning to throw it away, but did a double take and studied it further. The name looked as scrawled and flourished as his friend’s writing always did, but something kept catching his eye and he wasn’t sure what.
He suddenly realized it with an audible gasp. Fishing the piece of paper out of the trash, he turned a lamp on and read each of them several times over.
“‘Please take good care of my baby…’ and ‘Angel’…oh my God.” Bert dropped both of them to the floor, almost hyperventilating from the shock. The little horse scampered back inside just as he found the nerve to speak again.
“The ‘g’s are the same.”
Beep. New message arrived at 6:05 P.M.
‘I know you’re hiding away like a little lost rabbit, don’t pretend you’re not there. C’mon man, I need to talk to you. Call back.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:25 P.M.
‘Hi, I’m Quinn. Do you remember me? I think I left like 30 messages on your phone. Yes. Anyway, look I’m not mad. Wait, maybe I am. I don’t know, but what I do know is that this needs to get sorted out. Just… pick up.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:40 P.M.
‘Hey Bret, it’s Dan. So Quinn is getting on my case about calling up and speaking to him already.’
Beep. New message arrived at 6:45 P.M.
‘Mr. McCracken, this is Jerry Pritchard of the protection of animal rights organization, PETA. I’m calling you today on behalf of several witness accounts of a miniature horse being spotted amongst the crowd at a recent show hosted by your band. These witnesses stated that the horse even made an appearance on stage, during which time you professed to the audience in question that the horse was indeed yours. Many people are astonished by your stage antics, and calls have been flooding in about this particular case. I understand you are a famous musician, Mr. McCracken, but…doesn’t give you special privileges…horses shouldn’t be kept in those conditions… We shall talk further about this as soon as you receive this message. I expect a reply, Mr. McCracken. Good day.’
Beep. New message at 6:57 P.M.
‘What the hell is this about PETA calls? They just called me with all this animal rights lecture and you not answering, blah blah. Oh for the love of God, I will actually come down and kick your ass if this gets us into any more trouble. It was fun and cute to begin with, but that was before all the enforcements and laws came into mind. Bert, I… I just don’t know how to do this…’
Quinn hung up before he finished what he had to say. Bert let out a shuddering sigh, a slight remnant of the tears he had been suffering through for the majority of the day. His gaze fell on the small horse curled up in one corner, and he willed himself to keep from sobbing again. Combined with the strange withdrawals he had been experiencing, the previous night’s events were almost enough to send him over the edge. He could always end it if he wanted to…
No. He couldn’t leave the little horse all by itself for such a stupid reason. Who would take care of it? It wasn’t like he could trust anyone else. Quinn, maybe, but now even his best friend was mad at him.
“Look at all the trouble I’ve gotten you into, little one,” he said quietly. Regardless of his caution, the filly opened her bright blue eyes and stared up at him, whickering softly. “What if they come and take you away?”
The phone let out another irritated ring, so Bert went against his better judgment and finally answered it.
“…Hello?”
“Bert! God, I was so worried!” Instead of the worried voice of Quinn he expected – or possibly another PETA representative claiming he was Satan – Gerard’s voice sounded through the receiver.
“Why were you worried about me?” he asked with a frown. He secretly hoped someone else would call just so he could avoid the conversation.
“Quinn said you weren’t answering his calls. Why not?”
“Because people haven’t left me alone all day!” he shouted. “The audience was upset, the band’s freaking out, and now I’ve got PETA breathing down my neck. That’s why.” He paused. “Why did you call him?”
“Actually, he called me. He was wondering if I had spoken to you at all.”
Bert’s heart rate doubled. “Did you tell him anything?”
“No, I didn’t. Is everything okay? Should I come over there?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Gerard sighed. “You sound like you’ve been crying.”
“I told you, I’m fine! Leave me alone.” Even though he was trying to claim he was okay, Bert knew his voice sounded broken. He hung up before Gerard could answer.
He glanced at the clock as he walked back into the kitchen to see if it was time for the horse to eat yet. ‘It’s only seven,’ he thought to himself as he approached the fridge. ‘I guess it’s okay if she has a snack.’ He grabbed a bag of baby carrots and a small bottle of water along with a soda for himself and walked back to the living room.
“Here you go, horsie,” he said with a smile as he sat cross-legged on the floor and tore the plastic open, holding out a handful of the vegetables. The filly trotted over excitedly and happily took a bit of the carrots. Bert winced as its sharp teeth clamped down on at least two of his fingers, but he simply slid one pinky into the corner of its mouth to open it. He remained still as it released his fingers – along with the food – then licked up the mush now coating his hand. He had gotten used to it by now.
A knock on the door interrupted his thought process. He considered ignoring it as he had been all day, but he didn’t want to deal with the press or anyone else once it started getting later and he was trying to sleep. He stood and went to open the door, gasping inwardly in shock when he saw Gerard standing at the door.
“I told you to leave me alone,” Bert said firmly. He tried to close the door, but Gerard put a hand out to keep it open for a moment before he stepped inside. The filly shivered from the sudden draft ruffling her light fur.
“I don’t think you should keep the horse anymore, Bert,” Gerard said bluntly with a blank look on his face. Bert felt his heart rate skyrocket, this time in anger.
“You can’t take her away from me! I need her!” he shouted. Gerard shut the door and approached the horse, kneeling down next to her and stroking her fuzzy mane.
“You need her so you can let her almost get killed at one of your concerts?” he asked in near disgust. “I thought you had a little more sense than that, but apparently I was wrong.”
“Look at her. She’s fine,” Bert insisted as the horse drank from the puddle of water he had poured into his hand. “You have no right to get rid of her. She’s not yours.”
“And now I’ve seen that she shouldn’t be yours,” Gerard shot back. “Do you have any idea how much trouble this has caused?”
“Go check my phone messages. I have some idea,” Bert responded sternly. “I don’t care, though. I’m not letting you take her away from me.”
“Don’t you want the best for her?” his friend asked more quietly. “You should consider letting someone else take care of her. Someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing.” Bert almost nodded, but instead stubbornly shook his head.
“I’m doing fine. Why can’t you understand that?” he asked furiously. Gerard let out a long sigh and went to find a piece of paper.
“I’m going to give you the name and number of a friend of mine who owns a horse ranch around here,” he said tentatively. He slid a Sharpie out of his pocket, thankful that he always kept one handy in case a fan rabidly attacked him and asked for an autograph, and scribbled the information on the back of a receipt from the record store. He tried to hand it to Bert, but when his friend refused to acknowledge the fact that he was still there, he let the plasticized paper flutter out of his hands and onto the floor. Just before he stepped out the door again, he paused.
“Just…give it some thought, okay? Put my mind at ease.”
Bert finally let out a withheld breath once the door clicked shut. He gently picked up the little horse and held her close, finally allowing the last of his tears to flow.
“I won’t let anyone get you, little mini,” he whispered. The filly raised her head to look at him and licked some of the water off his face. He just smiled and placed a kiss on her tiny pink nose.
His eyes fell on the crumpled bit of paper resting next to him. The person’s first name was Angel, but the last name was completely indecipherable, as were about half of the numbers. Bert rolled his eyes; Gerard’s handwriting was permanent chicken scratch to him. He smiled and set the horse down, letting it run outside for a moment. He picked up the piece of paper and stood, meaning to throw it away, but did a double take and studied it further. The name looked as scrawled and flourished as his friend’s writing always did, but something kept catching his eye and he wasn’t sure what.
He suddenly realized it with an audible gasp. Fishing the piece of paper out of the trash, he turned a lamp on and read each of them several times over.
“‘Please take good care of my baby…’ and ‘Angel’…oh my God.” Bert dropped both of them to the floor, almost hyperventilating from the shock. The little horse scampered back inside just as he found the nerve to speak again.
“The ‘g’s are the same.”